One tent peg remained, the last sentry,
plunged in thawing ground,
This one peg watches
the last carnival truck tail lights
disappearing in a column of sadness,
vanishing with a distant sigh. I am writing
opposite to your winter equinox,
it will summer when this message arrives.
In repose by firelight,
juniper needles crushed, scented
under autumn’s sublime weight. Onyx tresses
softening along your shoulders.
those extinguished coals
Love is a black glove
forging gilded arrows,
launched in the bent bow of a sentence
Its taut strings drawn with tension,
couplets released, crossing the sky
To each sleek shaft,
a note is tied.
Seasons have no meaning
on the equator.
There is a certain repose in the garden.
Dusk and dawn dip and rise
about the circadian fulcrum.
The moon in zenith pulls the tides. The heart
is a ship at rest in a sea of motion,
teetering along the seam of time. Steadfast,
the hull, a sturdy curve of devotion,
its meaninglessness, sublime.